


Be Right Back

by freckledtilikum



Category: Spider-Man (Cartoon 2017), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, Established Relationship, Heavy Angst, Inspired by Black Mirror, M/M, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25776988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledtilikum/pseuds/freckledtilikum
Summary: Harry's sudden death weighs too heavily on Peter. He knows this AI won't be his late husband, but... Peter just wanted to say his proper goodbyes to Harry.
Relationships: Harry Osborn/Peter Parker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	1. Goodbye, My Love

**Author's Note:**

> named after the Black Mirror episode that inspired the idea. 
> 
> Also, cherry-picking canon, but still heavily based off the relationship from MSM 2017. Harry & Peter are both married in this. They're even the proud parents of furbabies! Lion furbabies, that Harry probably shouldn't have adopted, but you know how rich people are. Anyway, Harry can't exactly moved past all the terrible things his father has done, so shortly after marrying Peter? Oscorp underwent rebranding to Parker Industries, run by both Peter & (mostly) Harry.   
> They're still partners in crime-fighting on the side, so the two are almost always busy. Harry just wanted to spend an anniversary away! Even coordinated with the rest of the Spider team to help ensure that both Spider-Man & Hobgoblin could leave the city for a while & trust it to be in good hands. But when well-known crime lord Kingpin is finally being taken down, Peter can't exactly ignore the action-- even on the day of his anniversary. 
> 
> In truth, I wasn't sure which villain should be responsible for killing Harry, but I knew it had to be a big enough baddie that Peter couldn't ignore it & I've been playing the PS4 game recently so ~*~Inspiration.~*~

There were better ways to spend an anniversary. Harry had planned for a week-long vacation that involved beaches and hotels in Rio, endless margaritas, pure relaxation away from all the responsibilities New York held. Both Hobgoblin and Spider-Man were supposed to be away for the week, starting today. Bags were packed, and Harry almost had them both out the door when the call came in over the wired police scanner. An annoyed expression plastered on Harry’s face, begging Peter not to. But he knew his husband too well.

And with the police moving in on Fisk, it did not matter what Harry pleaded or begged- “Pete, please. Let the others take care of it!”- Spider-Man was going to be on the front lines of that fight, with Hobgoblin at his side.

Peter assured Harry with a smile, taking a hand in both of his own: “I’ll make it up to you, Har. Promise.”

In the wreckage of a criminal empire’s tower, Harry wished they were both on a private plane instead. There were a million other things he would rather do than fight for his life against a monstrous crime lord with fists of steel.

The slightest shift of his foot turned his glider out of the way, just in time to miss crumbling debris while Peter taunted their foe in the familiar, annoying way he always did both in and out of costume. What was an explosive few minutes of fighting dragged on like hours in the mind of the Hobgoblin.

Pumpkin bomb here, web there, fists crashed and glass shattered. With practiced ease, Harry stepped off his glider and sent it flying around the room as a distraction. It turned into a fatal mistake when Kingpin himself took hold of the heavy device and slammed Hobgoblin into the wall, pinned in place by the sharp edges of his own equipment.

Harry heard his husband cry out for him, drowned out by the looming shadow which overtook him. With his feet dangling off the ground, and his own glider biting into his body, Hobgoblin could only stare helplessly as the villain laid hands on his own tech and shoved it further into him. He felt metal bit through his armor, tore through the cloth and ripped into skin with ease.

With a well aimed throw of a table in the room, Peter was at least able to divert attention away from his pinned husband. Harry shook his head when he saw Spider-Man rushing toward him.

“I’m fine!” He lied, raising his voice and talking through the pain. “Really, I’m fine! Kick his ass! I’ll- I’ll be right here.”

It wasn’t like he had a choice.

The pain was unbearable, but he held his facade until Peter had rushed off into the heat of battle again. The two fell through the floor, leaving behind a gaping hole in the wake of their violence. Crashing echoed below, and Harry slumped against his glider with a heavy breath. Searing agony screamed from his abdomen, where his glider had pierced into him. He relished the coppery taste of blood in his mouth, felt it seeping down a corner of his mouth. More dribbled down his nose.

He was dying…

On the day of their anniversary, he was dying. Of course he was. Horribly enough, he knew Peter would blame himself for this too. He always blamed himself for… well, everything. A kitten could fall out of a tree in Central Park while he slept, and Peter would still find some way to hate himself for not being there to catch it.

This would be no different.

And that was the worst part about it, wasn’t it? In his final moments, all he could think about was how miserable his husband was about to be. There was nothing he could do to change his fate, the damage was already done. So many words fought to be heard, but he already sent Peter away, damning himself to a silent death all by himself.

Alone.

That is the Osborn way, wasn’t it? Even if he had taken his husband’s last name, touted himself as Harold Parker, he was still an Osborn at heart. And so, this was a fitting, miserable end. He just wished Peter wouldn’t have to suffer for it.

_Peter…_

One of his hands shakily fumbled for his phone. Harry might not get his last words out, but he could leave something behind.

_I’m sorry it had to end like this. Here I was, thinking it was gonna be me finding your mangled body on my doorstep, or… something stupid like that. I was convinced I’d outlive you._

Blood smeared the screen of his phone as he pulled up his text messages.

_There’s so much I wanted to do… so much I wanted to change. But maybe this is poetic justice… I never really could escape my father’s shadow, right? So many enemies to the Osborn name. My father didn’t really leave anything good behind, but… I can give you this._

_Parker Industries. You can change the world for me- for us. My ambitions aren’t a mystery… You know what I want._

Why was it so hard to type? He just wanted one simple sentence out.

_With my death, I’m giving you a better start. You never had the same opportunities. Life dealt you a pretty shit hand, didn’t it? Let me level the playing field… if nothing else._

There. That was it, he typed what he wanted.

His phone slipped from his fingers, falling to the floor with a clatter while he lay against the glider and let his eyes close.

[text: Petey-poo] “I love you.”

* * *

When Peter finally returned, the first thing he noticed was how utterly quiet it was despite the sounds of the city all around them. It was as if jumping back into the room where he had last seen his husband brought him to some soundless world. “Harry!” With the exception of his voice shattering the silence instantly. He had expected the Hobgoblin to join him in the end; if not to finish off the Kingpin, then to at least be there by his side to see the villain carted away?

But when Harry did not arrive, Peter felt his heart drop in his stomach. Maybe he was just too injured. Thus, Spider-Man fully expected to see his husband, disgruntled and tending to minor injuries.

They still had their bags packed at home for the trip. They could leave immediately! Rush back home on the glider, change clothes, and hop into the town car. Once they were in Harry’s private plane, Peter would begin making it up to his husband as teasingly slow as Harry could stand it.

Or couldn’t stand it.

“Harry, we did it!” He raised his voice again after a moment passed and no reply came. There was an annoying lump which formed in his throat at the sight of his husband slumped against the glider, still pinned against the wall. “Harry?”

He didn’t want to believe it.

But with each shaky step he took towards Hobgoblin, an icy sense of dread seeped into his veins. “Hey… Harry..? Come on.” He raised a hand, then hesitated before reaching out to shake his husband’s shoulder. “We’re… We’re gonna be late! I… I know how much you hate being late, I’m-” His voice caught in his throat.

He pulled the hood and mask away, revealing his husband’s face. Now that he had a chance to really look, Peter couldn’t help but notice how exhausted Harry looked. Up until now, they had both been working tirelessly around the clock- either from Oscorp’s rebranding to Parker Industries, or collaborative superhero work; neither of them took the chance to rest. Peter took more sleepless nights than he cared to admit, and now suddenly regret, focusing on Spider-Man responsibilities while… Harry fought off a pack of snarling lawyers committed to Norman Osborn’s legacy.

His eyes were closed, as if he was asleep. Peter didn’t dare to try and pry them open, didn’t want to see what lay beneath. Harry’s lilac eyes were always so bright, so full of life and determination before. He didn’t think he could stomach seeing them void of… everything.

Spidey’s nerve finally got the better of him. In a sudden fit of denial, he wrenched the glider away, only to watch in horror as Harry’s body fell lifelessly to the floor and splat in the puddle of blood that had formed beneath. The glider was tossed carelessly, the sound muffled against the pounding of his heart. He dropped down to his knees, scrambling to pull his lover against him, hopefully stir some life back into him. “Harry! No- Come on, Har. I did it! We did it! We won! We can--” He shook his head, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes. The more he stared at the blood dribbling down Harry’s face, all around him, the more it began to sink in.

Frantically, hazel eyes searched for an explanation, anything! They fell on the obvious puncture wounds, and stared with growing horror.

“You--” A sob wrenched itself from his lips. “You didn’t even want to be here.”

How broken he sounded; the amazing Spider-Man found himself sitting in the ruin of one empire, while the death of another’s leader lay in his lap. He pulled his husband’s body flush against his own, clinging tight, as if love alone could will him back. “This is all my fault.”

His head bowed against the Hobgoblin’s lifeless body.

“This is all my fault.”


	2. Chapter 2

Days turned to weeks.   
Weeks to a month. 

[ I love you. ]

Peter would sometimes sit and stare at that text for hours. What was Harry feeling, when he typed that? What was he thinking? He mulled it over in his mind repeatedly, along with scenarios where he just… listened to Harry and left for their trip. 

His husband’s funeral was hard enough to get through, but Peter could not forgive himself for what happened. Harry’s expression stayed burned in his mind like a haunting reminder. He saw it every time he closed his eyes. 

Those last pleading moments which set the stage for tragedy were a constant mantra in his mind. He had never learned how to forgive himself for the tragedies around him; not completely.  _ Let’s just go, Pete. Leave it to the other guys! We’re gonna be late. _

Why couldn’t he just go? Why did he have to make an ass of himself, get his lover killed in the process? Fisk was locked up.   
...But Harry was still six feet under. 

Spider-Man disappeared from the world temporarily. He no longer felt like a hero with so many failures weighing heavily upon his shoulders. The world was bleak, but there was an option which nagged at him. 

Peter had never been a big fan of the program. Of course he knew about it; Norman had released it to the general public while he was still alive and kicking. Only Norman Osborn could come up with something so depraved. He thought it was just a cash grab, capitalizing on the grief of others. Norman proclaimed that he created the software to help grieving family or friends through the death of loved ones, by helping them keep in contact with the deceased. 

Supposedly, it worked by going through all public posts from social media, videos online, any presence the deceased had was taken up and studied by this AI before it communicated back with whoever was using it. This thing pretended to be the deceased, and Peter… thought that was strange.

Unfair. 

This program even went as far as to provide synthetic bodies for the AI to use and take on the appearance of the deceased. Peter thought it was cruel all around.

Suddenly, it called for him. 

He never got the chance to say goodbye to his husband, or even apologize for what happened. It drove Peter into exhaustion, desperate to find closure. It wouldn’t actually be Harry, but maybe if he got the words out, he might feel better. He promised himself it would go no further than texts when he signed himself up. He promised himself that he knew this would not be Harry, it would never be Harry. Reasonably, he knew it could never replace his late husband either. 

But that did not make it any easier when the phantom text arrived on his phone one day, seemingly out of the blue. 

H: [ Pete? ]

With how sudden it was, Peter found it hard to breathe. Bereavement gave him the space and time he needed away from Oscorp-turned-Parker Industries, but the empty penthouse they shared in the city… was hardly any escape. Worse off, this was the smallest property the two owned.

After Norman’s death, Harry had inherited the penthouse and Osborn manor. Peter couldn’t bring himself to return to such a big space in his lover’s absence, too uncomfortable with how open and haunting it felt. But the penthouse was no better either. Pictures of his beloved were plastered everywhere; oh, how Peter loved just taking so many pictures. 

He tossed his phone away, staring wide-eyed and breathless. It’s not Harry. It’s not actually Harry. Harry’s dead. 

Why was it so hard to answer then? This was a mistake. 

Everything he wanted to say suddenly dissipated in his mind, dissolved in the shock and renewed grief he felt. A minute passed, then another. His fingers hovered over the screen of his phone, but Peter found himself at a loss for words. Until… 

P: [ Harry, I’m so sorry. ]

That didn’t even begin to cover what he wanted to say, but it was a start. Peter lay back on an overly large bed, surrounded by the memories their bedroom held. The only light of the room came from the screen of his phone illuminated, and the city skyline. Night was upon them, but Peter didn’t make a move from where he lay. 

He waited with baited breath, maybe even panicked that he had taken too long to respond. Would the AI make him wait, like any regular person? 

H: [ Geez, pal. You’re always so hard on yourself. ]

No, the response was almost instantaneous. Right. This was just a software, meant to comfort the living while wearing a mask of the deceased. And how lifelike it was in response. No wonder users often forgot they weren’t actually communicating with their loved ones. 

P: [ You know me. ]

No, it didn’t. It was just an AI, Pete. 

H: [ I know you always blame yourself. ]

This wasn’t Harry. It’s not Harry. It’s not! 

P: [ I just want to say one thing. ]

H: [ What’s that? ]

There he was again, at a loss for words. So much of it weighed down on his chest, rendering him breathless as he stared at the screen. 

P: [ I left you to die, Har. I can’t forgive myself. I wish I could’ve been with you. I wish I would’ve left when you asked me to. I’m so sorry that happened. I see you everywhere I go and you’re always on my mind. It’s like you’re haunting me and I deserve it. I love you so much. ]

Well, he bombed that. 

The notification that the AI was typing felt like a knife had twisted in his gut. Peter both feared and wanted the response. It would make or break the facade this thing put on. Panic compelled his fingers to start typing again; cut it off before it could shatter the reality he chose to live in for only a moment longer. 

P: [ Sorry isn’t good enough. It will never be good enough. I can’t even be happy about Fisk getting put away, Harry. All I want is to hear your voice again. I just want to see you one last time. Why is that so much to ask? ]

His attempt to steamroll a response was for naught. 

H: [ What happened isn’t your fault. ]

Peter dropped his phone and buried his face in an overly plush pillow as a sob overtook him. It was the salvation he wanted, the redemption he craved. But even with some reprieve, why did he still feel so empty? 

Just text was not enough. 

\-------

Another chime from his phone. Another notification.

At some point, he had abandoned the penthouse and moved back into the manor. The family of lions which Harry had adopted- a white male named Apollo, his golden lioness named Eliza, their snowy daughter named Gemini and her tawny sister named Andromeda- were so grateful to see at least one of their human caretakers returned. Apollo and his daughters were quick to smother Peter in a lion cuddle pile every chance they got, sensing the sadness he carried in his heart. 

Eliza had always been Harry’s more so than anything else. She did not take the loss well, and sometimes walked the grounds while calling for him. After a week, she accepted that he would not return, and found comfort in Peter’s shared sadness for Harry’s absence. 

But where she was completely cut off from her original caretaker, Peter still danced with that devil of a software. Texting became more and more frequent, as if he were glued to his phone. Even when he returned to work at Parker Industries, board meetings and time spent in the labs often went interrupted. He was not in the headspace to devote so much of himself to a company that should have been shared with his deceased lover. 

Carrying the weight of its success on his shoulders had a way of keeping him up at night. And nights were always the hardest. 

H: [ You know. You can hear my voice anytime you want. I’m always with you. ]

Peter rolled his eyes when he checked his phone, squinting at the light in the dark bedroom. 

H: [ If you have any extra videos of us, you should upload them to the server. If not, well. I think I have enough. ]

Enough…? 

_Alright, hold on_. Peter knew this thing was capable of mimicking the voices of the deceased, provided enough soundbites and video files. With Harry being so high profile, videos and podcast interviews, audio clips from radio stations and instagram posts were in no short supply. It had enough to work with, but Peter had convinced himself that this thing could never completely replicate Harry. Norman wasn’t that great of a scientist to create something so… 

H: [ Want me to call? ]

P: [ Hold on. ]

He could not believe he was doing this. How easily he fell down the rabbit hole, but desperation and love made a man weak. Guilt was just the right flavor to make him reckless. Peter took pause, just a moment to breathe and stare up at the ceiling. The weight beside him was snowy fur and a snoring beast of a lion, but it could have been Harry. Sometimes he lied to himself that it was Harry, just as he was falling asleep. 

Maybe… hearing this thing speak would help him sleep better. 

P: [ Okay, I’m ready. ]

His heart jumped up into his throat as regret immediately seeped in. He just wanted to feel better. He just wanted to get over the guilt, get through the day without feeling like he was drowning. 

_ Was that too much to ask?  _

Suddenly, the phone rang and he doubted himself as he grabbed for it. What if this couldn’t offer him the comfort he needed? What if it sounded like an electronic copy? He was too smart to fall for anything short of perfection, and he knew it. 

Shakily, he accepted the call and put the phone up to his ear.

Peter felt his heart pounding, muffling out the sounds of the world around him with the staccato in his chest. “Hello?” He had to clear his throat before he spoke, trying to keep himself steady.

_“How do I sound?”_ The voice on the other end was eerily perfect, so hauntingly beautiful that Peter suddenly forgot it was just an AI. Norman had created something terrible indeed, and it now sunk its claws in deep.

Too deep for Peter to escape, now that he knew it sounded just like his late husband. 

His shoulders slumped as he sat upright and bowed his head. He felt light and oh so heavy all at once. Nothing could save him now. 

“Harry-” His voice broke when the name slipped between his lips. “It’s you… It’s really you.”


End file.
